Punk 57

Dear Ryen,

I hold the pen over the paper, frozen, the millions of things I want to say to her every day lost once I sit down to write. What did she always tell me? Just start. Don’t worry about what I’m going to say. Just start, and everything will open up.

I couldn’t write lyrics before Ryen. And now, since that night three months ago, I can’t write anything.

I stare out into the empty warehouse, black soot from past bonfires coating the walls and the warm breeze whipping through the broken windows and hitting my back.

A chain hanging somewhere in the vast space above me blows in the gust and bangs against a rafter while a shiver creeps up my spine.

It feels different here. At night this place is packed, but during the day it’s quiet and empty. My favorite place to come when I need just that.

I stare down at her name, trying to remember how easy it was to always open up to her.

I hate this, I tell her. Everything fucking hurts. They weren’t supposed to bury her. I shouldn’t have let him. She saw a movie when she was a kid, about a woman buried alive, and it scared the shit out of her. She didn’t want to go underground, but my father said we needed a place to visit her as if her wishes weren’t the most important thing.

I close my eyes, wetness coating the rims of my lids. Anger churns inside me, and it flows down my arms as I carve the words into the paper.

I can’t write you. And when I can, I can’t send the goddamn letters. I want to hurt you. I don’t know why. Probably because you’re the only person I have left to hurt. Every letter you send that I don’t answer is the only thing that makes me feel good anymore. You want the truth? That’s it. It feels good to play with you like this. It gives me pleasure, knowing you’re thinking about me but wondering if I’m thinking about you.

I’m not. I never do.

I keep writing, letting every ugly thing spill out, because she loves me, she wants me to be happy, and she wants me to smile and do mundane shit like talk about Star Wars and music and what I’m doing for college. Who the hell is she to assume there aren’t more important things than her going on in the world?

All your letters, over all the years, immediately went into the garbage after I read them. Didn’t you see how pathetic you looked? Sending five letters for every one of mine? I’ll bet you deluded yourself, too. Did you fantasize I kept them? Maybe with a little red bow tied neatly around the stack as I jerk off to them, because I love your pretty words so much?

No. Because after I eventually fucked you, I’d get bored. That’s all it was about.

I draw in air through my nose, locking my jaw together as I press the pen into the paper. Guilt creeps in.

Ryen.

The liar. The poser. The superficial bitch who’s no different than all the others.

But then I drop my eyes, remembering…

Ryen.

The kid who slipped five bucks in a letter in fifth grade when I told her my dad took away my allowance.

The girl who makes me smile when she argues about how sausage overpowers the taste of pizza and sent me a Veggie Lovers Pie for my birthday to prove me wrong. She didn’t. Meat Lovers is way better.

The girl who gets all my movie references, knows when something’s wrong, tells me everything I need to hear, and stops the world from spinning around me.

Ryen. The beautiful, perfect girl who’s so different from all the others.

I run my hand over my forehead and through my hair, my throat tightening into a knot and my eyes burning.

Fuck. I put the pen to the paper and scrawl what my goddamn heart can only whisper.

I miss you every day, I write. You’re my favorite place.

And then I drop the pen and tear the paper out of my notebook. I dig a matchbook out of my jeans, the one I use for lighting my lamp in my room at the Cove, and strike a match, watching as the tip glows orange and yellow. I bring it up to the letter, setting the corner on fire. Quickly the edges burn black as the flame spreads across the paper, eating every single word as the blue lines slowly disappear.

I let out a sigh, pulling my lip ring in between my teeth. The girl I saw yesterday in the classroom—she disappointed me. My Ryen, the one I thought I knew, would never treat someone the way she treated that kid, Cortez. The way she just stood by and let that cocksucker mess with him. I waited for her. I sat there and waited for her to stand her ass up and speak up for him, to say something, to do anything, but…

Nothing.

Everything makes sense now. The cheerleader she talked about in her letters and everything she hated—she was talking about herself.

I drop the small fire in my hand to the cement floor and stand up, grinding my shoe into the dust, stamping it out.

I look at my watch and see it’s after seven. I’d stopped by my house after school, before my dad got home, to check my mail and pick up some things, and then I grabbed some food and came here. I remember Ryen saying in her letters that she teaches swim lessons Tuesday thru Thursday nights at the school’s pool. That’s where I’ll probably find her now.

I should’ve just given her the book back. She’d found Annie’s locket, and I don’t want to start any shit with her, especially when she’s not the reason I’m here, and I’m skipping town as soon as I get what I came for.

And she and I will never have to cross paths again.

But, I have to admit, fucking with her in class today was the first time I’ve smiled in a while. It’s hard to resist.

I walk out of the warehouse to my truck and climb in the cab, slamming the door.

But then I see the passenger side door swing open, and I jerk, startled.

Dane hops in the truck and shoots me an easy smile as he sits back, looking at ease. “Netflix and chill?”

I scoff and turn my keys in the ignition. “Get out.”

The engine rumbles to life with a smooth purr that I’ve worked hard to maintain. My cousin left me this truck when he was “indisposed” for three years, but now that he’s around, he hasn’t come to claim it, so I guess it’s mine. I was grateful when he passed the keys to me all those years ago. I hadn’t wanted to ask my dad for a car when the time came.

“So I had this date last night,” Dane goes on, ignoring my order. “Do you remember that girl from Sigma Kappa Whatever? She was at the gig last night, and everything was going great, both of us eye-fucking for like four frickin’ hours…” He pauses and turns to me, his voice turning urgent. “She takes me home, dude, and I’m sitting in the living room while she’s in the bathroom, and I’m so ready, because she’s so hot, right? And who walks in?”

“Dane.” I close my eyes, willing him to shut the fuck up.

“Her mom, dude!” he bursts out. “Her mom in her light pink nightie with legs for days. And let me tell you, man…Stacy’s mom has got it going on?”

I can’t help myself. I break out in a laugh at the song reference and pinch the bridge of my nose, tired but a fraction more relaxed, even if I’d never admit it to him.

Such an idiot.

Dane is twenty-one, but he never quite figured himself out after high school. He still lives in his parents’ house, loves to make music, but he’s in no hurry to be someone by a certain age. I wish I could let things go as easily as he does.

I let out a calm breath and look over at him, guilty that he’s still a good friend, and I’ve been a shitty one lately. “I’m sorry about the band.”

After Annie died I couldn’t see anything beyond that. I started skipping school, I left the band, I stopped trying to have a relationship with my dad…

He was destroyed, losing Annie, and I went through the motions for a couple months, sticking around, but we couldn’t mourn together, and I couldn’t stay to watch. He was sad. I was angry. Losing her only broke whatever small link we had to each other.

And my piece-of-shit mother never even showed up to the funeral. Every day I think about it, I get more livid.

But Dane just shrugs. “We’re killing time until you’re ready to come back,” he tells me. “You know we’re not shit without you.”

“Yeah, well… I haven’t written in months. It’s gone, so don’t wait for me.”

After I left the band, the guys all stepped in and carried on with three people. They still perform here and there, and the summer tour is still on. I know Dane is hoping I’ll be back on track by then, but I have zero interest. When I lost Annie, I lost Ryen, too, and now nothing is speaking to me. I don’t know if I’ll ever have anything to write or anything more to say.

“What’s this?”

I cast a glance over at Dane who holds Ryen’s white notebook, fanning the pages as he looks inside.

“Are you writing, after all?” he asks but then stops on a page. “Nope. This is a girl’s writing.” He continues to read and then lets out a little laugh. “A very bad girl’s writing. Who is she?”

I snatch the notebook away from him and drop it to the seat. “My muse.”

“Does she want it back?”

I smile to myself. “More than anything.”

And he grabs his seatbelt, fastening it. “Well, then let’s go.”

Walking into the school, I hear the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner, probably coming from the library, since that’s the only room that I’ve noticed in the school with carpeting.

I cast a look left. A janitor must be in there. I’m not sure how many there are, but there has to be more than one with a school this size.

My school, Thunder Bay Prep, is a bit smaller but, in many ways, a lot nicer. Falcon’s Well has almost no security—I glance up at the cameras that are being installed but are not yet active—and the Athletics here suck.

The hallways are dark, classroom doors are closed, and since we noticed the parking lot was nearly empty on the way in, that means the lacrosse, cheer, and track practices must be done for the night.

Maybe a few teachers are lurking on the second and third levels, but other than the janitors, only Ryen is left, teaching down in the pool.

I walk up to the front office doors, glancing around me to make sure we’re alone, and hand the notebook to Dane. “Hold this.”

“What are we doing?” He pulls up the hood on his black sweatshirt, nervously looking up at one of the dead cameras.

I slip out a tension wrench from my jeans pocket and immediately dig back in, feeling for the paperclip I swiped off a page in Ryen’s notebook. I unwind the clip and straighten it, bending the end just slightly.

Dane watches as I insert the wrench, applying pressure and feeling which way has more give, before sticking the paper clip into the lock and working the pins, pressing all five of them up until they click. I add pressure to the wrench and then…

Click.

The lock turns, and the door opens.

“Where’d you learn that?” he whispers, sounding surprised.

“YouTube. Stop talking.”

We both dive into the dark office, quickly scanning the area to make sure it’s empty. The desks behind the counter sit vacant, and I shoot my eyes left, seeing Mrs. Burrowes written on a door. I walk over and jiggle the handle, finding it locked as well. Inserting the wrench, I work quickly and feel relief when the handle finally gives way, the door opening wide.

I stare into the office, amazed that this actually worked. I’ve never picked a lock before, until I Googled how this afternoon and practiced on some rusty old doors at the Cove.

“The Principal’s Office.” Dane inches in, filling the doorway with me. “I spent a lot of time in one of these. I think they gave me my diploma just to get rid of me.”

His voice is thick with humor, and I stuff the tools back in my pocket. “Shhh.”

Stepping inside, I immediately go for the cabinets and begin opening drawers, looking for anything even close to resembling what I’m searching for.

I sift through student files, budgets, receipts, teacher records, disciplinary records…

“What are you looking for?”

I open drawer after drawer, dragging my fingers over the files as I quickly scan. It has to be here. Annie told me once she mailed the stuff here.

“Dude, we should get out of here,” Dane urges, sounding nervous.

And then I see it. A thick, brown pocket folder labeled Private with a rubber band wrapped around it.

I grab it, quickly opening it and peeking inside. It’s filled with pink envelopes and a small photo album, and an ache shudders through my chest as I force down the lump in my throat.

Annie.

I close the folder and wrap the rubber band around it again, shutting the drawers and walking out of the office. There are people still in the building, and I don’t want to get caught.

Dane following in my wake as I turn around and push the button, locking and closing the door behind us.

Unfortunately, the double doors in front are locked with keys, so I can’t cover my tracks on those. Hopefully the office staff will just think they forgot to lock them on their way out this afternoon.

Dane looks down at the folder in my hand. “What does this have to do with the notebook?” He holds up Ryen’s diary.

“Nothing.” I walk down the hallway toward the locker rooms at the back of the school, taking the book out of his hand. “Not a damn thing.”

Ryen isn’t why I’m in Falcon’s Well, but I knew I would run into her here. Something I feared.

She doesn’t deserve my attention. Annie’s all that matters. But after months of not giving a shit about anything—my family, friends, or music—having Ryen close is kind of distracting. In an almost pleasant way.

It doesn’t matter, though. I have the file, and as soon as I have what else I came here to collect, I’m gone. I earned enough credits to graduate in January, and I’m not going back home. I’m taking my fake name and my fake I.D., and I’m going to try to forget.

Forget that I was taking selfies with Ryen that night, ignoring my instincts and responsibilities, while my sister was dying alone on a dark, cold road.

We walk into the locker room, knowing that the pool is accessible from it. Passing by the offices and through the locker bay, I see something out of the corner of my eye and catch a glimpse of two bodies in the shower.

I enter the hallway and slow to a stop.. Did I just see…?

I jerk my chin at Dane and point ahead. “There’s a pool through there. Give me a sec.”

He nods lazily and heads out of the locker room. I turn around again and, keeping my body close to the wall, I peer carefully around the corner again.

Amusement pulls at the corners of my mouth. Well, it looks like not everyone in cheer and lacrosse has gone home for the night, after all.

Trey Burrowes, the guy who thinks Ryen is his, stands in the shower, holding her best friend—Lyla, is it?—up against the bathroom wall, both of them naked, wet, and fucking as the showers spray around them.

Classic.

Lyla’s dark hair is up in a wet ponytail, and her arms and legs are wrapped around him, holding on tight while he grips her ass and goes at her, both of them breathing hard and moaning quietly.

This is the guy Ryen wants to take her to prom? She chooses her dates about as well as her friends. I wonder how long they’ve been screwing behind her back.

But hopefully, if he’s fucking this girl, then he might not be getting it from Ryen.

An ounce of pleasure hits me.

I turn around and walk down the hallway again, pushing through the locker door and seeing the impressive, ten-lane indoor pool.

Parents sit on the bleachers, observing and taking pictures, while Dane leans against the wall. I walk over and stand next to him, following his gaze.

Ryen stands in the pool with four students—all kids, probably younger than ten—and moves her arms in big circles as she dips her face in the water.

The students count. “One-two-three-breathe!” they scream, and Ryen twists her head to the side, taking a breath before dipping it back in. She circles her arms again, pretending to push herself through the water, doing three strokes as they count. “One-two-three-breathe!”

She lifts her head up and stands up straight as she pushes her hair back off her forehead. “Okay, now your turn!”

All the kids begin mimicking her as she counts.

And I just watch her. She lets out a big smile, clearly proud as they all fall into sync, completing their strokes and breathing when they should, and I have to fight not to laugh when one of the boys splashes her accidentally. She feigns a growl and splashes him back.

“Alright, again!” she shouts. “One-two—” And then she stops, her eyes falling on me.

They narrow, and I hold her gaze, recognizing the temper flaring as her smile falls.

“Again!” she bites out at the kids, her eyes dropping to my hand with the notebook.

“That water looks cold,” Dane comments, a quiet laugh following, and I know what he’s referring to.

I let my eyes fall to her breasts, seeing the hard points of her nipples straining against her long-sleeved, black rash guard. A pretty impressive feat, considering the wet material is clinging to her skin, and I can see that she’s also wearing a bikini top under the shirt, adding extra padding.

Which I’m grateful for. I look up at the bleachers, seeing a few dads gazing down, and while they’re probably looking at their kids, I don’t like that they might be looking at her. She doesn’t need to give them a show.

I drop my eyes back to her, watching her smile at the kids.

“Great job, everyone!” She walks down the line, giving them high fives before standing in front of the last one, asking, “Washing machine or cannonball?”

“Washing machine!” the little girl with freckles squeals.

Ryen picks her up, cradles her in her arms, and twirls in the pool, whipping left and then whipping right as the kid squeezes her eyes shut and laughs.

“Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo,” Ryen says, mimicking a washing machine sound.

I shift and draw in a breath, realizing I’d forgotten to breathe for a moment.

“Me, me!” the next kid waves his hand in the air and shouts, “Cannonball!”

Ryen picks him up. This kid she vaults into the air, and he flies a couple feet above the water and then plunges below the surface, making a big splash.

I tear my eyes away, reminding myself that I don’t care. I stand with Dane and wait for her to finish all the kids, and as soon as she dismisses them to their parents, I walk over to the bench where she’s drying herself off.

“And here I thought you ate children,” I muse, handing her the notebook.

She throws her towel down and takes the book, immediately opening it and scanning the inside. “Well, I do like to play with my food a bit before I eat it.”

She fans the diary, probably looking to see if anything is missing.

“I didn’t tear out any pages,” I assure her.

“How do I know you didn’t make copies?”

“Because I don’t play with my food before I eat it.”

Dane clears his throat at my side, speaking low. “I’m going to go wait in the parking lot. Take your time.”

He follows the parents and their kids out of the gym through the side door. Ryen stuffs the diary in her bag and picks up the towel, continuing to dry off her legs. Her black bikini bottom, unlike her rash guard, is not as conservative as I would like. Her toned legs look tight and smooth, and the droplets of water on her thighs have my heart skipping a beat.

She realizes I’m still here and scowls. “Well?” she snaps. “You can leave now.”

I slide my hands into my pocket. “And why would I do that, Rocks? When it’s so warm in your presence.”

“Why do you keep calling me Rocks?”

I ignore the question, keeping my eyes locked on hers. But then I notice her shiver, and without thinking, I glance down, seeing that her nipples are harder than ever. She’s obviously cold, and visions of her in a hot shower invade my head. Naked, steam, heat…

Wait…

Shower. I glance behind me at the men’s locker room door. Her friend and that fuckwad could still be in there. What if she hears something? Or sees them come out together?

I turn back to her. So what? She should find out what goddamn sleazes those people are whose opinions she cares so much about. She should find out exactly what a bad investment that was. She has this coming.

But, for some reason, I don’t want her to confront that. Not unprepared. If she sees her prom date and best friend together, no one will take her side when the fallout happens.

No one will probably be surprised by Lyla’s behavior, and Trey will be the man.

Ryen will just be the stupid girl who was duped.

And I’m not sure why I care.

“Come on,” I say, “It’s dark out. I’ll walk you out.”

“Piss off.”

She pulls on some shorts, tying the little string, and then slaps on a baseball cap, not even sparing me a glance.

“There’s someone breaking into the school at night,” I point out, my voice turning angry. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”’

She laughs, leaning down to zip up her bag. “Yeah, maybe it’s you, and you just want me out of here so you can get going on writing stupid crap on the walls.”

I hesitate.

Okay, yeah, I’ve broken into the school a couple of times. She’s right about that. But I’m not the one breaking in and vandalizing the place. That is definitely not me.

I didn’t risk coming here to get caught doing stupid shit.

She straightens and turns to fix me with a look. “You called me a cunt and cut my hair. You think I’d actually trust you to protect me? Don’t blink too hard, Shit-for-Brains. You might lose your last few brain cells.”

I widen my eyes, and every muscle in my body squeezes so tight it burns. What the fuck did she just say?

Before I know what I’m doing, I sweep her up into my arms and carry her to the side of the pool.

“Cannonball or washing machine?”

Her eyes widen. “Wha—?”

“Cannonball, it is!” I shout out. And I throw her into the pool, hearing her scream as her entire body hits the water, and she completely submerges.

I storm out of the gym without looking back. Hope the swim teacher knows how to swim.

I dig my keys out of my pocket and head for my truck. Shit-for-Brains? Blink too hard?

She’s got a nasty mouth on her and an answer for everything. Does she ever shut up?

I climb into the truck, slamming the door. “Dammit!” I growl. “What a fucking—!” But I stop myself, breathing hard. I’m so damn angry I almost wish we had a gig tonight. Or a practice. I want to take what I’m feeling out on something.

I hear a snort next to me, and I suddenly remember Dane is with me.

“I told you,” he says. “She looked kind of cold. I’ll bet she feels good when she warms up, though.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

I stick the key in the ignition, yank the shifter to Drive, and lay on the gas.

“Yeah, it looks like it,” Dane comments dryly.